


I could be convinced

by WoollyLambda



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous Temporal Setting, Ballroom Dancing, Discussions of turian subvocals, F/M, Formalwear, Jane and Garrus being professionals in a workplace environment, Metafiction, Shakarian - Freeform, This takes place somewhere between ME2 and ME3, chewing of the scenery, passing mentions of miranda lawson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25762765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoollyLambda/pseuds/WoollyLambda
Summary: Jane and Garrus attend a joint Human-Turian formal event organized by the planetary governments.-“Commander!” a turian in yellow called. A glittering cowl hid her fringe, with miniscule crystal beads sparkling across its surface as she waved.Jane smiled. She grasped the turian’s forearm in greeting, bowing her head over their joined arms before pulling away.“Vamia Indros, lead ambassador to Shanxi at Taihang,” Garrus explained, gesturing to her.“A pleasure to meet you.” Jane nodded.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	I could be convinced

Turian diplomats ringed the ballroom. Some in chatty clusters, others lounging at tables piled high with hors d’oeuvres, and others still dancing to a piece of classical music Jane recognized from the Menean weather channel. She gazed into her champagne, swirling it in its glass. Lazy bubbles rose in the liquid, moving through honey-gold syrup to burst in the bell of the flute. She brought the glass to her lips. Sweet. Something the caterers purchased on the word of a human sommelier, and not by risking their own palates. Jane had been powering through the venue’s reserve of the stuff out of necessity. She didn’t want to insult their hosts, and the event would have been intolerable if she was sober. Plum lipstick stained the rim of the glass. Jane wiped the residue away with her thumb—a polished red fingernail flashing in the low light of the room.

Soft, yellow-tone bulbs hung from a lofty chandelier, radiating a dreamy haze over the gathering. Long silver chains suspended the bulbs dozens of feet above them, and smaller spheres of light floated free of the fixture just above the dancers. A gentle tide rolled through these spheres as the dancers swayed beneath them: stars bobbing on ocean waves.

Each of the tables dotted around the room had a centerpiece of Palaven flora. Vibrant orange trumpets spotted and lined with variegated white markings. Clusters of blue blooms clinging to willowy stems. A few of them were edible flowers, though Jane didn’t feel compelled to take a sample. Her table had a woven nest of softwood twigs at its center. Curling vines sprung from its core, with a pair of white, bell-shaped flowers bowing gracefully from their place in a cut-glass vase. Their thick stamens were powdery with green and lavender pollen. A signal of the flower’s poisonous bulb and roots.

Mouth-watering platters of grilled meats and vegetables had been traded for spun sugar sculptures as the night drew on—crystalline slivers of citrus-analogues curled into avian silhouettes around whorls of coloured candy. Beautiful lamb dishes had been served to the human guests earlier that evening, but the portions were delicate, and the fact that she couldn’t top up with any of the finger foods left a dull, grinding ache in her gut.

Polite clapping rose from the dance floor, and Jane set her glass down to join in. Members of the small orchestra stood, nodding their thanks for the applause before settling down again, quickly pulling strings and wiping condensation from pipes before the next song. Instruments she recognized as cithars were tuned with peg-winders—their thin silver strings glittering as talons plucked them into harmony. Others, she didn’t have names for, but their Earth analogues in fifes and pan-flutes were evident. An airy note rose from the cacophony, bringing the orchestra into focus. They were off.

Hiccupping beats marked a faster paced dance than the last one, and Jane grimaced. Garrus tried to teach her this one in preparation for the gala. She watched as the dancers spun, moving effortlessly through the opening notes of the piece. 1-2-3, half-turn, 1-2-3, half-turn. A dizzy ache formed behind her eyes as she tried to follow the beats.

The music picked up, and the dancers flew through one of the half turns. Fringes brushed the air just under suspended stars, and the glittering hems of gowns flared as feather-light dancers fell back to firmament.

Jane’s own gown was chosen for her by Miranda, not trusting her to pick something tasteful. Given the state of Jane’s closet, she had no reason to disagree. It was a relatively modest lavender garment. Long, fitted sleeves came to smooth hems at the wrist, with the skirt brushing just over Jane’s ankle. Fabric was gathered at the waist to shape the bodice, and a deep vee split it to reveal pale, freckled flesh from her clavicle to her breastbone. Flowing crepe lined with silk to keep things decent. There was the subtlest shimmer to the lavender fabric. Shot through with silver threads, the slightest movement sent it glittering in the recesses of her vision. A slit cut up the right side of the skirt, closing just above Jane’s knee. Low silver heels peeked out from under her skirt, open toes revealing lacquer matching that on her fingernails.

Her hair had been similarly laboured over. Normally mussed by sweat and debris, it was swept out of her face into a pinned bun at the nape of her neck. Miranda’s stylists had done what felt like some elaborate braiding to the red hair, but Jane hadn’t gotten the chance to look at it before they shuffled her into the cab.

She tipped her glass back to drain it, setting it down just in time to see Garrus approaching. Her eyes flew wide, and she swallowed harshly, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from spitting.

“You alright, Shepard?” he laughed, offering a hand to help her up from her chair.

Her eyes watered as she took it. Jane braced against his outstretched arm to right herself, fanning at her eyes to keep the makeup from running.

“I’m fine,” she wheezed. She stood straight, swallowing thickly again to rid her throat of the burning sensation that accompanied near-aspirated alcohol.

He chuffed at that, mandibles twitching with laughter.

“Sure, sure,” he indulged, patting the back of her hand with his own.

Black matte gloves sheathed his talons that evening. Tailored fabric drew graceful lines over the articulation of them, coming to dull points at the tip of each digit. She squeezed his hand—lips pulled into a thin smile as she looked up at his face—and followed as he led her toward the gaggle of turians he’d been speaking to.

A mantle of thick navy fabric draped around his shoulders, trimmed with braids of threaded gold. The fabric poured over Garrus’ collar and keel—a matching hood paneled and fitted over the slope of his back. His fringe was clipped. The edges were buffed to create a sharp point that swept from the back of his head. Cobalt paint streaked his face plates, following the lines of his clan markings with exacting precision.

His mandibles flicked into a smile under her scrutiny.

The fabric of his robes flowed as he walked, that same navy wool cinched around his waist with a gilt sash. The ties of it fell against his side, split over the sharp plane of his right hip—one afore and one behind. Slits cut up the sides of his skirt as well, though these went much higher than hers, parting at the upper thigh to reveal loose leggings in a dark fabric. There was an eye to accommodate his spurs, with greaves pulling the loose fabric tight around his shins—covering the flesh just over each hallux.

“Commander!” a turian in yellow called. A glittering cowl hid her fringe, with miniscule crystal beads sparkling across its surface as she waved.

Jane smiled. She grasped the turian’s forearm in greeting, bowing her head over their joined arms before pulling away.

“Vamia Indros, lead ambassador to Shanxi at Taihang,” Garrus explained, gesturing to her.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Jane nodded.

Vamia was taller than Jane by about four inches. Her robes were canary yellow, fading gradually to sunset at the hem. They were cut in a similar way to Garrus’s, though her leggings were of a stiffer, more fitted textile. She wore a set of bangles on one slender wrist, and they chimed as she moved, lending further music to her speech as she gestured emphatically. Angular yellow patterns moved up her face from her jaw. They crossed over her mandibles and eyes in two parallel vertical lines, stopping just over her brow ridge. Smaller lines radiated from the plates making up her facial crest. It was possible that they went all the way to the end of her fringe, but Jane couldn’t be sure.

“We were just talking about you, Commander.”

A male turian in emerald green robes spoke up. He was broad in the shoulders and just slightly shorter than Vamia. His skirt was cut in one long, paneled piece that stopped mid-calf, darts in the back allowing for his spurs. Fuschia clan markings were brushed across his face. Dots crossed his nasal plates and cheekbones, with the largest of them placed on the far points of each cheek, getting progressively smaller as they drew near to his nose. Further markings dotted his mandibles and chin, with a broad stroke painted from his lip plates to his chin and down his throat, disappearing under the neck of his cowl. Sparkling cider frothed in his glass as he held it up in a toast.

“Oh?” Jane turned to grasp his arm as well.

“Tertian Lamus. I’m a colleague of Ambassador Indros,” he explained. “Though, I’m stationed at Hebei, so we only have the pleasure of seeing each other at functions such as this one.”

Vamia laughed at that, mirth flicking her mandibles into an open position. Tertian’s expression mirrored hers, mandibles flared upward and outward in a grin, though he tucked them in as he took a drink.

“We were discussing subvocalized tones,” Garrus supplied, his own subvocals humming warm and sweet as he shot a look to Jane.

“I’m familiar,” she said, neutral.

Her gaze shifted between the three turians. Vamia piped up.

“We all agreed it’s funny that humans never learned how to control their subvocal tones for speech. I mean, sure, in music yours are _haunting,_ but I haven’t found a single human who can use them for much else.”

Jane made a face, and this sent the mandibles flicking once more.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well,” Tertian started, “Shangxi was settled originally by colonists native to China and Mongolia. As part of our work at the consulates, Vamia and I, along with our other colleagues, have been working to share the culture of the colony with the people back home.”

“Are you familiar with the art of Tibetan throat singing?” Vamia asked.

“Of course,” Shepard responded.

“That’s an example of the human ability to generate subvocal tones audible to other humans,” she trilled. Her mandibles snapped at this, bobbing for a moment before flicking into the neutral position.

“It was one of the things that fascinated me, when I was first stationed in Hebei,” Tertian added. “I was invited to a concert of traditional Mongolian song when the consulate was founded. The music was beautiful. Like Vamia mentioned, haunting stuff. But when I went to speak to the performers afterward, I was shocked! It was like they were singing in the closed dialect but trying to talk to me using bioluminescence!”

Vamia and Garrus both roared in laughter at this. Jane could feel the buzz of their shared joy on the air.

“Wait,” she started, “let me get this straight. Turian subvocals, the ones that can’t be translated—”

Vamia nodded.

“Humans can do the same thing?”

“Well, it’s not exactly the same, no,” Garrus explained. “It’s like when Kaiden tried to speak French to the humans at Lalique.”

It was Jane’s turn to laugh.

“I _love_ that store.” Vamia’s eyes were bright as she spoke. “Their reproductions are to _die_ for.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jane deadpanned. “I’ve been banned for life.”

Garrus chuckled.

“Kaiden’s rap sheet on the Citadel aside, you know what I mean. There are languages that are the same in theory, but not always in practice.”

Jane nodded, crossing her arms as she puzzled through.

“And you can understand human subvocal tones?” she asked.

“Not always,” Tertian replied. “But, right now, even if you can’t hear them, you _are_ using subvocals.”

Jane’s face contorted again.

“It’s natural to all speech, in the way that all sounds generate harmonic frequencies and overtones,” Vamia stated.

“With humans, though, it’s sort of a junk signal.” Tertian punctuated his sentence with a motion of his glass.

“Humans have that bone in their leg, the… what’s it called?”

Vamia turned to Tertian, her facial plates contracted in confusion.

“The humorous,” he supplied.

“That’s in the arm,” Jane corrected.

Vamia and Tertian shared a look before turning to Garrus for support.

“Are you two talking about the funny bone?” he asked, chuffing.

“That’s the one!” Vamia trilled. “It sends junk signals to your pain receptors when you hit it on things.”

Jane craned her neck to look up at Garrus, a bemused smile on her face.

“Sure, alright, go ahead” she sighed, nodding along.

“The brain can’t process the signal properly. When we hear human subvocal tones in speech, it’s the same way,” Vamia concluded.

“So, you’re hearing my subvocals right now?” Jane was suddenly hyper-aware of the sound of her own voice.

“Yes! But, again, there’s not much to hear in them,” Tertian confirmed. “The ones in song are what we can recognize as having analogous meaning to our own.”

Jane nodded again.

“It’s also why turians tend not to understand human, or anyone else’s, sarcasm. Verbal language is subjective, where subvocalized tone implies the true meaning. Listen.”

Tertian coughed to clear his throat.

“My name is Tertian Lamus. I was born on Palaven, but grew up on Invictus, in the Emperus colony.”

Brassy tones floated under each of the words as Tertian spoke. Where normally Jane strained to hear even the wisps of turian’s subvocals, Tertian’s were clear and bright in the air.

His mandibles flared in delight when he saw the expression on her face.

“A turian hears the words, and then hears their truth in the subvocalized tone,” he said.

“Garrus has lied to me before, though.” Jane quirked an eyebrow up at him.

He chuffed at that, scratching the back of his head.

“I think the leather dress looks great on you,” he mumbled.

That same brassy tone was present under Garrus’s words, but this time she could hear the effort he was putting into maintaining it.

“Bastard!” she laughed, smacking his arm.

Tertian and Vamia shared a look of confusion.

“It would be an interesting experiment,” Jane granted, “to see if humans would be able to incorporate the full range of subvocal tone into speech.”

Vamia lit up at that.

“Funnily enough, that’s one of the things we’ve been doing at the Taihang office! Teaching humans to understand the basics of subvocalized tone, and having them converse with Turian volunteers,” she gushed. “It makes the actual spoken language a bit hard to parse at times, but the meaning that comes through subvocally more than compensates.”

Garrus’s mandibles hung low for a moment in shock before he snapped them back into place.

“You’re teaching humans how to use subvocals?” he asked.

Vamia grinned, nodding.

“The preliminary results have been _very_ promising.”

Garrus looked down at Jane, brow plates aloft.

“I could be convinced,” she said, nonchalant. Jane shot him a wink before reaching out to shake Vamia and Tertian's arms.

“It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

“Likewise.” Tertian nodded as he spoke, profound warmth emanating from his sonorous tone.

“I’d love to know more about this project as it developes,” she told Vamia, smiling when her mandibles twitched in delight.

Jane grabbed Garrus’s hand then, pulling him along with her as she strode toward the dancefloor.

“Let’s get in one of those five-steps we practiced.”

Garrus’s mandibles flew wide, and he chuckled, sweeping her into his arms as the band started up their tune.

“I could be convinced.”

**Author's Note:**

> i did........... way too much research for this fic..................................


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